


The Pain of Knowing Yesterday

by santatape



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Blood, Crying, Depression, Dermatillomania, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Pain, Sad, Skin-picking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29100879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santatape/pseuds/santatape
Summary: Oikawa is falling apart.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	The Pain of Knowing Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> quick little content warning: this might be gross for some people to read! if you don’t like graphic descriptions of skin picking and/or blood/mild gore, please don’t feel obligated to read!! 
> 
> in honor of my first subscription (and 29 work subscriptions.. i promise the next chapter of the sakuatsu fic is coming soon i’m so sorry) i have written this!! more haikyuu angst and self hatred, love to see it. it’s also like my favorite thing to write so,, 
> 
> anyways - more character projection but this time no toxic relationship dynamic wooo

He didn’t know what triggered it, but before Oikawa knew it, he was slowing down. His whole life had been so fast-paced and full of hard work that he seemed to be stuck still. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do to fix it when volleyball practice started to be less fun, or when showering daily became optional. His hair was greasy, unstyled strands falling into his eyes. His acne was getting worse, whether it from the oil of his hair on his skin, the stress, or both, was unknown to Oikawa. But it didn’t make much of a difference. His perfect appearance was becoming cracked, crumbling away like an old stone building. Yet, the boy didn’t feel like he was crumbling - the feeling was more of a melting, dripping, sinking feeling. He was drowning in the thick liquid sliding off of him; honey without the sweetness. 

His knee tinged with soreness occasionally, but it didn’t bother him. He was in bed all day anyways, what did it matter if he was uncomfortable. It wasn’t like he had the energy to move. Everything felt so heavy, so difficult, so impossible to achieve. How could he get up and shower when it had so many steps and took so much time? That time could be spent sleeping, laying in bed, scrolling through his friends’ posts online. He didn’t need to shower, or brush his teeth, or eat, because he was already practically dead. He was nothing but a corpse pretending to live, a zombie. He was trapped inside his thoughts, hating his appearance, his emotions, how difficult everything was. 

He eventually stopped looking in mirrors and reflections. He used to be so narcissistic, constantly scrutinizing his appearance for any imperfections. The mirror was his best friend, so much time dedicated to looking _perfect_ _perfect perfect._ But the mirrors made him panic, nowadays. Getting a glimpse of his reflection from his phone screen made his breaths come shorter, his tears come faster and harder and ugh. He couldn’t deal with it. Seeing his dry skin and gross complexion only worsened his anxieties about what other people might think, but even that wasn’t enough to motivate him to go shower. He wished for nothing more than to be normal, motivated, happy. 

Iwaizumi would come over, sometimes. He’d bring food and feed it to Oikawa when his arms felt too heavy to move and his eyes felt too lead-filled to open. He’d pick up his messy room, week-old clothes littering the floor and half-empty cups and food dishes covering every inch of the floor and shelves. Half-ripped posters would be removed and replaced, the dusty corners would be cleaned, and by the end of his few hours spent at his boyfriend’s house it would be back to being clean. On some of Oikawa’s better days, Iwaizumi could coerce him into showering. Each shower took around two hours to complete, what with how long it took him to get up, zoning out and coming back to reality, taking small, slow steps, only to break down in the shower and spend forever washing his hair over and over again, shaving his legs even though Iwaizumi told him he didn’t need to. Oikawa was so embarrassed at how pathetic he was around his boyfriend, that he had to take care of him and help him _shower_ for fuck’s sake. 

The skin-picking didn’t start until a couple months in. He’d have an itch on his face, back, chest, shoulder, stomach, scalp, whatever. And while he reached to scratch it away, he’d feel a bump, an imperfection. He would then obsess over it, picking it off with his hangnail-ridden fingers. He’d scrape at the acne, the dry skin, the small pieces of dry scalp, whatever he could find. He’d rip out his hangnails and ignored the pain, ignored the blood. He’d pick and scratch and it felt so _satisfying_ , knowing he had the control over picking away all the little bumps and tears covering his body. His hair would fall out from his fingers peeling away layer after layer of his scalp, constantly feeling around in his mess of greasy hair to try and find something he could pick off. His scalp would bleed, coating his fingertips with sticky red that he couldn’t find the effort to wash away. His face would bleed, his chest and back would bleed, everywhere was covered in blood. But then the blood would dry and the injuries would scab and he would have even more to pick off. It was a never-ending cycle.

Iwaizumi didnt know about the skin-picking. He continued to try his hardest to help Oikawa, but it was so terrifying to see his boyfriend look so bleak and tired all the time. This boy was such a stark difference from the Oikawa he grew up and fell in love with. Never giving up, pushing himself to work harder and harder so he could always be the best, peppy and happy but vulnerable when alone, the boy who loved outer space and eating milk bread. This version of him was so sad all the time. He rarely talked, couldn’t take care of himself, and slept all day with tear tracks down his cheeks. He wanted to help him, he did, but it was just so scary to see him like that. He helped him shower, held him while he cried, cleaned his room, made him food, complimented him, and reassured him. He was fearing that it would never end. He eagerly awaited the day where Oikawa would be less depressed. 

Oikawa doubted he’d ever get better. All he knew was the dirt and grime under his fingernails, crusted earwax muffling his hearing and greasy hair covering his bloodshot eyes and mucus-filled nose. His skin was flaking off and would float in the air whenever he rubbed his skin, difficult to differentiate from the permanent splotches of light staining his vision. Even his eyebrows had dry skin, for fuck’s sake. Nights were littered with criticizing his past self for every awkward interaction and embarrassing memory that he could think of. Mornings were spent with drooping eyelids letting in slivers of light from his cell phone, just enough to ignore the hundreds of notifications in his phone while he scrolled through every social media platform in existence, hoping to distract himself. He lost himself in his thoughts, zoning out constantly whenever he remembered something so all of his attention could be devoted to it. He was so far gone into the depths of depression, it felt impossible to climb back out. He was trapped, isolated, yet he didn’t want to deal with the pain of getting better. He remembered his beautiful past full of joined laughter with Hajime and eating junk food with copied grins. 

He yearned for it. 

Whatever force threw him into this rabbit hole of depression and then crushed his throat under its boot was a giant fucking bitch, according to Iwaizumi. It deserved to rot in hell forever for hurting his Oikawa like this. His absolute true love, soulmate, best friend, was in an unfathomable pain and had been for too long. Oikawa needed more help than Iwaizumi could provide, but he simply had zero clue how to act towards him because he could tell it was getting worse. By the time he noticed the bloody scabs all over Oikawa’s body when he bathed him on a really bad day, he realized he was much too late in the help department. Oikawa had been suffering and despite Hajime’s attempts at comfort and support, he was still peeling his skin away layers at a time and he would only get worse if the shorter man didn’t do something bigger. He just had to figure out what that something was. 

The feeling of flakes of scalp being torn off and rolled between his greasy fingers was unlike anything else, it gave him that tiny spark of pleasure he was so deprived of each time he did it and he couldn’t stop. He figured this was how drug addicts felt, getting that rush and not being able to live without it, slowly developing into a bigger and bigger issue until it’s impossible to stop. His stubby fingernails were constantly in his hair, prodding around. He hadn’t taken his hand off of his scalp in days, weeks, months, who even knew how long? His sense of anything other than all of his imperfections and the ever present despair and sadness was nonexistent. He was so disgusted with himself for his inability to tear his hand out of his gross hair but he needed that feeling. He craved it. It was the closest thing to happiness he had felt in a long time, to those days spent stargazing in a backyard that needed to be mowed while trading secrets in low voices, giggles difficult to keep at bay so as not to wake up the other members of whoever’s house they were at. His other hand would pick his permanent acne that inhabited his face and body, attempting to rid himself of the dirt, grime, imperfections. The irony of his nonexistent shower schedule yet having a deeply-rooted hate for being dirty made for an excitingly anxious internal battle constantly shooting back and forth from the machine guns inside his brain. 

He was just so tired. Exhaustion seeped into his veins and weighed him down, while anxiety and self-deprecation spread and grew throughout his body, setting him on fire and leaving him to burn. Scars littered his body and he had no way of fixing any of his issues that kept getting worse. He knew he needed help, but he didn’t want to scare Hajime any more than he already had been. If he asked for help it made everything more real, proved he actually had a problem. He couldn’t have that, he needed perfection. There wasn’t room for failure, for flaws, that was how it always had been and always would be. Oikawa refused to admit to his boyfriend that he wasn’t okay anymore and hadn’t been for a long time. The thought of Hajime leaving him terrified him, he couldn’t deal with the pain of losing his only source of human contact and peace by scaring him off with too much depression. He tried to hide the marks of his skin-picking for a while, but it was no use. After the first week of using concealer and forcing himself to push through the overwhelming heaviness and exhaustion in order to complete it only to have it smear off from the sweat and grease on his face and the pillowcase he rarely moved from, he gave up. 

Oikawa never gave up in the past, yet this small task was enough to force him to back off and quit. He really wasn’t okay, was he? 

Iwaizumi spent the next few days heavily contemplating what he could do to help Oikawa. After consulting Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who were also very concerned, he made the decision to contact a psychiatrist. If he could get Oikawa to talk about how he was feeling to a professional, maybe he could begin to feel better, at least that’s what Iwaizumi hoped for. 

That turned out to be a terrible idea. Apparently, a good psychiatrist was not cheap nor anywhere close to affordable for an unemployed high school student. So, with that idea off the table, Iwaizumi decided he’d have to get Oikawa to talk to him instead. The next time he went to visit Oikawa, he held his hand and mustered up the most courage he ever had before in his life in order to ask the question. 

“Oikawa, what’s going on inside your head?” 

He wasn’t granted a response. Instead, tired eyes closed and the lump of limbs and blankets rolled over, turning away from Iwaizumi. They had barely spoken to each other over the past months, Oikawa’s grades only saved by Matsukawa’s concerning talent for getting away with plagiarism. Iwaizumi chose not to question it. The lack of response from his boyfriend saddened him; he hadn’t planned for this. He had to improvise. 

“Baby, I know I constantly tell you how amazing you are and how it’s okay to feel whatever emotions you’re feeling. I just really want to try to understand, and I think you can help.” 

Help? That was laughable. Oikawa was in no place to help anyone, let alone his insufferable boyfriend. Wait, what? Why would he think that about Iwaizumi? He was trying to help, yet Oikawa was insulting him. Who even was he? Who was Oikawa? Who was he becoming? The thought scared him, he didn’t want to think bad things about his boyfriend. He loved Hajime, always had. He needed to stop. He was fine. 

Iwaizumi heard some quiet mumbling but couldn’t make out any of what Oikawa was saying. “What was that? I can’t really hear you,” he tried. The mumbling stopped. A quiet sigh escaped Iwaizumi’s lips as he realized how difficult this really was. His boyfriend was in such pain, yet nothing he did helped. He wasn’t going to stop trying, though. He would never give up on Oikawa, not when he knew it was worth it in hopes of seeing a smile on his beautiful face just one more time. And so he kept trying. Every time he visited, Hajime would talk to him, ask him a couple questions about how he was feeling that were left unanswered. He was okay with being patient, though. He didn’t mind the silence when he knew his boyfriend had the capability to get better. As long as he kept trying, there was still hope. 

More months came and went, passed them by without much thought. It was just the two of them in the long run, volleyball could wait. Everything could wait, including Hajime. 

The day Oikawa answered, it almost went unnoticed with how scratchy his voice was and how quiet his whispers were. Iwaizumi had asked, “What are you thinking right now, ‘Kawa?” Oikawa had noticed Iwaizumi’s exhaustion growing week by week as he tried so hard to be patient despite never getting answers or results from Oikawa. He felt so bad for him, never answering his questions, leaving him sad and losing hope. But how could he even begin to tell him everything he was feeling? How he felt even the slightest change in air pressure yet nothing at all at the same time? How he had thoughts pop into his mind telling him how easy it would be to just rip out all of his hair, stab someone, or eat the skin he picked off? There was no way his boyfriend would understand how he felt, even if he spelled it out for him. There was no point. It was just a waste of breath. Yet, despite it all, he decided to deem Iwaizumi with a response on this particular day. 

“How much I hate myself for letting it get this bad.” 

Hajime’s shocked and ecstatic expression wasn’t seen by Oikawa, since he was faced the other way. But Hajime was happy nonetheless. Oikawa had responded to him for the first time in forever, and it took all of his control to not reach out and hug the boy, knowing how he had flinched the last time he had attempted unnecessary physical contact (the reason for it was Oikawa’s terrible self-hatred and disgust towards himself, he didn’t want Iwaizumi to touch him when he was so undeserving of it). 

Oikawa continued talking for the next few days, Iwaizumi switching to daily visits in hopes of more conversation. Oikawa told him snippets of how he felt all day, how heavy and daunting everything was, how small he felt, how incredibly satisfying picking at the expanse of his skin was. Hajime dutifully listened day in and day out, never interrupting or pretending he understood how the severe depression felt. He gave him sympathy and held his hand, caressing his much longer hair while he sobbed. He did everything he could to soothe his boyfriend, even on the days he didn’t talk at all. Oikawa loved him so much for it. For putting up with everything for the past almost-year, never once complaining or leaving. 

Oikawa was falling apart. 

But maybe the pieces could be put back together. 

**Author's Note:**

> there it is!! hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> the next chapter of my sakuatsu fic is being written i promise, i really am sorry for how long it’s taking. stress from school and life in general makes finding time to write kind of difficult, and when i tried to sit down and finish the chapter the words just didn’t come so i decided to finish this old draft i’ve had. 
> 
> i always appreciate comments and kudos if you’ve enjoyed reading,, thank you so much for reading it :)


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